


Trust

by fredbassett



Series: Stephen/Ryan series [25]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 13:05:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quiet Sunday morning in bed leads to some thoughts about the nature of trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stephen Hart raised his head from Ryan’s thigh and remarked, “Was Lester serious about you lot attending some of Cutter’s lectures?”

Ryan glanced down from the book he was reading and nodded. “Makes sense. The more we know about the damn critters the easier it makes keeping you lot, and ourselves, alive.”

It also allowed a more rapid and effective reaction to problems, which Stephen presumed was also Lester’s intention, although he had to admit that the idea of Ryan and his lads going back to school was an entertaining thought.

“Wonder how Claudia fixed that with the Admissions Office?” he muttered, swiping a wet tongue up the inside of the soldier’s leg.

Ryan grinned and spread his thighs slightly, allowing his lover easier access.

The main problem had actually been arranging secure storage for their van and accompanying kit, but apparently the offer of a large research grant from the Home Office, sufficient to fund Cutter and his department for the next two years had opened an awful lot of doors. Including the one to a secluded garage on campus.

Stephen’s tongue tracked higher.

Ryan carried on reading.

A few minutes later, to distract himself, the soldier commented, “Hart, what does it say about our relationship that your bedside table’s sporting a packet of cable grips, a pair of pliers, a bottle of gun oil, and a few old socks?”

“They’re clean socks,” Stephen pointed out.

“I rather think you’re missing my point, sweetheart.”

Pausing in his relentless stalking of Ryan’s cock, Stephen hazarded, “It says I’m a kinky little sod?”

“I do recall having used that description on occasion,” the Special Forces captain agreed as a warm mouth worked it’s way slowly and carefully up his already hard length.

Ryan enjoyed the rare Sunday mornings that he got to spend in bed with his lover. They’d sleep late, until eventually one of them would give up, usually driven out of bed by the need to lose the beer from the previous night.

Coffee, bacon rolls and biscuits would invariably follow and after that Ryan liked to indulge in the all too rare pleasure of lying in bed reading.

As Stephen liked to indulge in Ryan, they were both happy.

The captain ran his hand through his lover’s black hair, doing his best to ignore the spikes of pleasure which Hart’s mouth was starting to drive into his groin. This was a game they both liked to spin out for as long as possible and there were times when they managed to make it last almost the entire morning. Which then usually ended up with both of them needing a shower and the sheets needing changing.

Half an hour later, with Ryan almost at the point of chucking the book on the floor and giving in to the sensations which were threatening to overwhelm his control, Hart rolled sideways and murmured, “Turn over.”

Torn between the urge to start fucking the skilful lips and the desire to prolong the game, Ryan hesitated.

Stephen’s hands slid slowly up his chest then strong fingers pinched both nipples hard. Ryan groaned and very nearly came just from the sharp, but not unwelcome, pain.

He rolled over, propping himself up on his elbows, breathing hard.

Ryan stared at the words on the page, but they seemed to be intent on re-arranging themselves into strange formations. Clearly his brain wasn’t doing a very good job of processing an analysis of Alexander’s battlefield tactics at Gaugamela.

“How far have you got?” asked Stephen, in an incongruously conversational tone as he started to run his hands over Ryan’s shoulders and down a strong back. A back that always contrived to render him rock hard whenever he saw it naked. Which was quite often these days.

“Darius has just buggered off.” Actually, that had been two pages ago, but for the life of him, Ryan couldn’t remember what had happened since.

“Silly sod,” muttered Hart, settling himself down to lick the back of his lover’s knees. “He should’ve known the rest’d break and run.”

“Mmm.” The book dropped from Ryan’s hand onto the bed.

Stephen grinned and carefully moved it over onto the side table. Ryan got grouchy when their activities ended in rumpled pages. His eyes lingered speculatively on the cable ties. They were there for his benefit, not Ryan’s. It had taken Stephen long enough just to get the Special Forces captain totally comfortable with turning his back on someone and lying on his stomach in bed. He knew damned well there was sod all chance of Ryan letting himself be tied up. You didn’t stay alive long in a job like his by being comfortable with the idea of bondage.

Glad that Ryan couldn’t see the hint of regret in his eyes, Stephen turned his attention back to his lover’s smoothly muscled body and started to nuzzle his way up strong thighs.

Would it be different if it was Lyle here in the bed instead of him? Stephen knew Ryan trusted Lyle. Trusted him with his life. Hell, he’d even trusted the bloke with Stephen’s life and there was a small, and very irrational part of Stephen Hart which resented that fact. And that same cold little jealous worm occasionally pointed out that he couldn’t even console himself any more with the thought that Lyle didn’t go with men.

A small sigh escaped his lips before he could bite it back.

“Get the cable grips.” The muttered words broke into Stephen’s thoughts and scattered them like rabbits caught in a lamping light. He was about to point out that it was his turn to do the fucking this morning, when Ryan’s next words took the matter beyond reasonable doubt, “And if those socks aren’t clean, I’ll thrash you to within an inch of your life afterwards, Hart.”

Stephen sat up, wondering uncomfortably if mind-reading was something they taught in Hereford. If it was, he was in a whole heap of trouble. “Forget it, Ryan, I know it’s not your sort of thing.”

The soldier sighed. “Maybe not, but it is yours, and I did promise.” Sort of. And I am feeling as randy as hell. And it did have a certain twisted appeal.

Stephen dipped his head to the hollow between Ryan’s shoulders and started to nuzzle.

The soldier’s head fell forward exposing the back of his neck invitingly. Stephen knew exactly how much being kissed there turned Ryan on, and not for the first time he wondered whether that was somehow connected to the extreme vulnerability of allowing someone else that close.

Using lips and teeth and tongue to good effect, he felt a small, involuntary movement of Ryan’s hips against the bed.

“Did I tell you it was OK to move?” he asked quietly. “ You won’t let me move when we’re playing like this. What makes you think the rules are any different this way round? If you do that again, I’ll stop.”

Ryan grunted something rude under his breath. Then he grunted again as Stephen swung one leg over his hips and settled on top of him, weight effectively preventing any movement. Stephen then proceed to drive any coherent thoughts out of Ryan’s mind as he tracked his mouth from shoulder to shoulder, biting a little harder each time.

With butterflies staging the insect equivalent of the Strictly Come Dancing Final in his stomach, Stephen murmured, “Are you sure?” into Ryan’s ear, punctuating each word with a light nip.

“Safe word’s spider,” breathed Ryan, through his teeth, continuing the insect theme.

Shit, they really did teach UK Special Forces to mind read, didn’t they?

After hearing the verdict delivered, the butterflies took a bow, and left the stage.

Stephen reached over and picked up a sock. He sniffed it quickly, checking his earlier claim. Yep, it was certainly clean, but on this occasion, cleanliness sure as hell wasn’t going to bear any resemblance whatsoever to godliness.

Making sure that he continued to pay enough attention to Ryan’s neck, ears and shoulders, he carefully twisted the sock around the soldier’s right wrist and secured it with a cable tie. Then quickly, before the other man had chance to change his mind, he slipped another tie through the first one and fastened that to the metal of the cast iron bed-frame. It was convenient that his local hardwear shop sold extra long ties.

The soldier tensed and sucked in a sharp breath.

Guessing what would have happened, Stephen pushed Ryan over onto his side and slithered down to take his softening cock in his mouth. Hands, tongue and teeth soon restored it to satisfactory hardness and in less than a minute he’d dragged a sharp groan of pleasure from deep in Ryan’s throat.

Moving quickly, not wanting to risk losing the mood, Stephen secured first one ankle, then the other and finally moved to Ryan’s left wrist. He could feel the tension in the corded muscles of the soldier’s arm and ran both hands along it, dragging his nails across tanned skin, bending his head to drag his mouth in long, wet slides across over-sensitive flesh and then it was done and Ryan was finally secured, face down on the bed, panting and obviously still aroused.

Stephen Hart sat back and admired his handiwork.

Then slowly and carefully, he ran one finger down the length of Ryan’s body and pushed it equally slowly and equally carefully into him, ignoring the involuntary clench of the tight ring of muscle that tried, and failed, to deny him entry.

“Do you want me to stop?” Stephen’s voice was barely above a whisper.

He ran his tongue over the back of Ryan’s neck, breath warm and tickling as he steadily worked the finger in deeper.

Every muscle in the soldier’s body tensed, then in a movement only achievable by someone who regularly did in excess of two hundred sit-ups a day, Ryan bucked his hips backwards, forcing a gasp from his own lips and driving a sharp flare of pain/pleasure through his body.

A slow smile spread across Stephen’s face.

He had his answer.


	2. Chapter 2

Stephen Hart’s finger moved slowly inside him, dry, rasping like sandpaper, just on the edge of painful.

Ryan’s heart rate speeded up.

It felt good.

He remembered the first time that finger had jabbed into him dry. More than two months ago now. Back in the hotel, the day after he’d fucked Hart’s mouth so hard he’d left bruised lips behind him.

Memory flooded his body with heat and he thrust his hips against the sheets. He wasn’t trying to get away from the intrusion of the finger, he just craved more friction against his swollen cock.

Hart shoved a second finger into him. It stretched and burnt and breath caught in his throat.

Ryan tensed against the restraints, feeling the sharp tug of the cable ties on his wrists and ankles, even through the padding of the socks. He couldn’t stop himself grinning. Sodding silly socks. There had to be a better way of dealing with this.

The inexorable slide of long fingers dragged first one groan out of him, then another.

“Get on with it if you’re going to, Hart, not gonna last long if you keep that up!”

Hart’s warm breath on the back of his neck nearly drove Ryan straight over the edge, then a hand pushed its way under his hips and fingers settled round the base of his cock, forcing the threatened orgasm under a measure of control.

He let out a small sigh of relief.

The searching finger succeeded in its quest and Ryan’s hips bucked wildly.

There, just there, like that! So good, so fucking good!

Sweat sprung out on Ryan’s body and he could smell his own arousal. He was moaning and writhing, chasing pleasure like a dream. He’d long since lost count of the number of times he’d fucked and been fucked, but nothing had ever felt quite like this.

It was sharper, fiercer, darker and brought back memories of the night he’d driven himself into Hart, without preparation, without lubrication, not even stopping to ease his passage with spit or sweat.

He’d hurt his lover then, there’d been no denying that. He’d tasted the blood and the next day he’d seen the evidence on the sheets and on the other man’s thighs. And the thought of what he’d done still brought with it a flush of embarrassment. Not least of which because he knew how sharp his own climax had been.

Hart was owed this, there was no doubt about it, but this was about more than that now. Ryan wanted this. God, he wanted it. Less than a week ago he’d been terrified of losing this man. Now he wanted to feel his lover inside him, hard, hot and dry. He wanted pain to cleanse his fear. Heat to drive away the cold that he still remembered all too vividly.

The rational part of his mind pointed out that this was just another stupid, destructive game. A game that he shouldn’t be playing. A game that would end up with a ripped and bleeding arse.

The other part of his brain, conditioned by more years than he cared to remember of macho idiocies like arm-wrestling over lighted candles or, even worse, broken glass, took a definitely perverse satisfaction from the painful drag of Hart’s fingers inside him.

A third finger dug in and his gasp turned into another groan. The fingers stopped moving. Stopped just short of that spot. And Ryan groaned again, trying to push up, trying to drive the fingers exactly where he wanted them, but his muscles suddenly wouldn’t obey even simple instructions.

Fuck me, fuck me now, Hart! Make it hurt…

A quiet voice breathed in his ear, “Ryan, I don’t think this is a good idea…”

The words hit the soldier like a dose of iced water and his eyes snapped open, “Stop now and I really will fucking kill you, Hart…”

In answer he heard a slightly shaky laugh, then the probing fingers moved again and stars exploded in his brain.

Only the other fingers clamped tightly round the base of his cock prevented a similar explosion elsewhere.

Fuck me, you bastard, now …!


	3. Chapter 3

The sharp, acrid smell of Ryan’s sweat filled his nostrils.

Stephen was so hard now it was painful. His cock was pressed up against the soldier’s thigh and it was all he could do to stop himself humping Ryan’s leg like some sort of irritating and over-exuberant Labrador puppy.

He wanted this, wanted it so much that it hurt.

Stephen wanted to bury his hopes for the future and his fears from the past inside his lover’s tight ass. He wanted to drive out the jealous little worm that had taken up residence in his guts.

He wanted to prove to himself that Ryan trusted him as much as he trusted his own men. As much as he trusted Lyle. More, even.

But still he held back.

He knew perfectly well that Ryan hadn’t wanted to do this. 

The subject had come up a few times, and each time Ryan had dismissed the suggestion. Even after their sex talk in the crevasse, he still hadn’t believed his lover would actually go through with it.

On the only previous occasion they’d tried this, he’d got as far as securing one wrist, then the soldier had grabbed the pliers out of his hands, cut the tie and had proceeded to fuck Stephen through the mattress by way of a consolation prize.

This time was different. He’d reduced Ryan to quivering and moaning in the past, but never for so long and never with the same wanton, wild edge. His lover’s breath was coming in great heaving gulps, almost as if he was having trouble remembering how to breathe.

The few words that Stephen could make out consisted of little more than fuck or now.

Even so, in spite of all his talk, and he enjoyed the talk, there was no doubt about that, Stephen found, somewhat to his own surprise, that he didn’t actually want to hurt this man.

Yes, he’d been less than careful on a few occasions in the past, he’d admit that. He still regretted what he’d done in the shower when Ryan had been weak from the after effects of flu and his encounter with the T rex.

But nothing he’d done had been with the deliberate intention of inflicting pain. That was the difference. And it was a difference that was restraining Stephen as much as the cable ties round Ryan’s wrists were restraining the soldier.

It took anger to make Stephen Hart want to hurt someone he cared about. And he wasn’t angry now. A bit jealous maybe, but not enough to make him want to hurt Ryan. To do something that he knew would cause real pain and draw blood.

There was no doubt in his mind that the Special Forces captain did like it rough on occasion. The drag of teeth or the rake of fingernails was often enough to finish him and Stephen had been stunned more than once by his lover’s ability to get a post-combat hard on and then insist on it being dealt with, no matter what other injuries he might have sustained which needed treatment in priority.

It was a standing joke amongst Ryan’s men that no matter how much of his own blood had been spilt, their captain would only want Ditzy’s ministrations after Stephen had relieved his more pressing needs.

After the incident outside Clearwell, they’d even stopped taking bets on the subject, much to Lyle’s irritation.

Stephen cursed his own indecision. He started to rub his cock against Ryan’s leg, as his own breathing started to quicken and his heart rate steadily climbed upwards.

He was working Ryan now with three fingers.

The soldier was still panting and moaning. He seemed to lack the muscle coordination needed to push against the intrusion and although his shoulders and arms were still straining against the cable ties, where it mattered most, Ryan was curiously relaxed.

If Stephen was going to do this, now was the time.

He knew he could bring Ryan off whenever he wanted in this situation. Frankly, just letting go of his cock would probably be enough. But if he just copped out and did that, would he ever get another chance at this?

And if he didn’t, would it matter?

He now had what he’d craved. He had ample evidence of his lover’s trust, spread out in front of him, moaning, sweating, open for him, wanting him, even like this, even dry.

And then he realized that Ryan was doing more than just moaning. Doing more than simply asking to be fucked.

He was begging for it.

Reluctance reached the end of a long walk off a short pier. And jumped, taking indecision along for the ride.

Stephen shifted position in one fluid movement, letting go of Ryan’s cock, taking the weight on his elbow, positioning himself carefully, hoping, even praying that the fluid already coating his own cock would be enough.

Then he was thrusting in. It was hot, and tight, and dry and it felt better than he ever remembered anything feeling.

With his last conscious thought, he angled himself quite deliberately for maximum effect and then thrust again and again.

Short and shallow at first, then deeper and harder, in response to Ryan’s continued pleading.

Stephen’s movements were ragged, graceless, lacking any style or finesse. His own need swamped him and he bit down hard on the back of Ryan’s neck while he buried himself to the balls in his lover’s tight ass.

Then he was falling deep into the darkness inside his own head, dropping down a slope from which there was no return, and he had no idea whose cries he could hear, his own or Ryan’s, as he thrust the most intense climax of his life into the trusting body of his lover.

His own gasps came from pleasure.

He hoped the same was true for Ryan.

* * *

Stephen came to his senses sprawled loosely across Ryan’s back, listening to the loud thump of his lover’s heart, feeling it reverberate through the soldier’s body, as he lay beneath him in boneless, gasping abandon.

He pulled out of Ryan as carefully as he could, and quickly clipped the cable ties and pulled off the sock padding. One had slipped, leaving behind a nasty red cut on Ryan’s left ankle. Both his wrists and the other ankle were rubbed almost raw.

He also took a moment to examine his lover’s ass. There was a smear of blood, bright red, but nowhere near as much as he’d expected.

Stephen lowered his head and used his tongue to salve the damage.

Ryan moaned softly but didn’t try to draw away.

He pulled Ryan into his arms and held him close while the final tremors of orgasm subsided, leaving the other man breathing deeply, seemingly almost on the verge of sleep.

A contented wiffle replaced the earlier moans.

Ryan’s breath tickled the hollow of Stephen’s throat. He wrapped a protective arm round clammy shoulders and he pressed a gentle kiss onto his lover’s equally sweaty forehead.

Ryan wiffled again and snuggled closer.

Stephen grinned. 

Ryan had embarrassed him often enough in the past with references to kitten noises. He wondered if now was the time to tell the Special Forces captain that when he was very, very contented, he actually sounded not dissimilar to a piglet.

A cute, military piglet, but a piglet nonetheless.


	4. Chapter 4

“No.” Ryan’s voice held a note of what he hoped was suitably threatening finality.

“Yes,” said Stephen, brandishing the antiseptic cream.

“It’s my arse.”

“I know that, darling, but it’s my fault.”

“What part of the last half an hour did you miss out on, sweetpea?” 

_The part where I was demanding a dry-fuck, or the part where I was apparently begging for it?_

“Stop being difficult. Be a brave little Special Forces captain and turn on your front.”

Ryan decided a change of tactic was needed. “No way, last time I did that I ended up tied to the bed.”

“Turn over and I’ll kiss it better.”

Ryan was an experienced soldier. He’d done the courses. He’d been trained to see through obvious tricks. The instructors at Hereford were wise to this sort of thing, even if the inducements they’d taught him to resist didn’t usually involve tongues and arses. He knew how to resist, how to negotiate with your captors.

“Only if you hand over the Savlon first.”

“What about the cut on your ankle?”

“I’ll let you deal with that,” Ryan conceded, settling himself back against the disordered pillows, moving his hips carefully.

If truth be told, which no doubt it would be at some point, his arse didn’t feel anywhere near as bad as he’d expected. Sore, yes, and it had stung like a hornet attack when Hart had tongued him earlier but an experimental wiggle of his backside had just proved that he wasn’t in too bad a state.

He wasn’t going to admit to that though, not yet, anyway. Not while Hart was still determined to treat him like he was made of spun glass. And not while there was still capital to be made out of the situation in other ways as well.

“Can I have another coffee? Two sugars, to help me get over the shock.” Hart’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Ah shit, the two sugars had clearly been pushing his luck. “Another bacon roll?”

“Turn over.”

“Biscuits?”

“Later. If you’re good.”

Ryan chuckled. “I’m always good, baby, you should know that.” He decided it was time to make a small tactical withdrawal, in the hope of gaining strategic advantage later. “I’ll let you use the antiseptic wipes from my rucksack, they sting less, but if that Savlon gets any nearer to my arse than my ankle, it’s leaving, you’re following it and I won’t open the window first. Got that?”

Stephen sighed and accepted the compromise.

Ryan turned over, avoiding the damp patch that would necessitate yet another change of bed linen and pillowed his head comfortably on his arms, enjoying the languorous afterglow of a really good orgasm. Actually, really good was an understatement. It had been a truly spectacular orgasm. He was beginning to get an idea of why Hart get off so easily on bondage.

The cream stung his ankle and made his foot twitch. The distraction of having each toe gently kissed and sucked helped.

He noticed Hart wiping his fingers off on the sheet. The threat of de-fenestration had clearly been effective.

Hands ran gently up his thighs, carefully spreading his arse cheeks. A light, almost hesitant tongue followed the fingers and licked a long, wet swipe across a very sensitive area. Ryan shivered with pleasure, ignoring the sting.

“Nice, but not necessary, darling,” he muttered.

“I’ll be the judge of necessary,” returned a rather muffled voice from between his legs.

Ryan grinned and didn’t argue. This was one kink of Hart’s that he was always happy to indulge. And anyway, dogs always licked their wounds, so there must be something in it. He sure as hell couldn’t get his own tongue round there, even if Lyle did sometimes remark that he had an unfortunate tendency to stick his head up his arse when it suited him.

The stinging diminished and the gentle lapping continued.

A few minutes later Ryan grimaced as Hart followed up his ministrations with the threatened antiseptic. He’d known the tonguing had been too good to last.

Time to play the coffee and bacon roll card again… and then later he’d suggest a shower... and after that it would be his turn to do the shagging…and maybe this afternoon he’d claim he had a pain in the arse again…

Ryan liked Sundays when he wasn’t on duty.


	5. Epilogue

Lyle lent back against the bar and started on his sixth beer of the night. A whisky chaser was lined up already.

There was something to be said for this back to school lark. The booze was bloody cheap, for one thing.

He glanced over at the noisy, cheerful group around one table and remarked to his companion, “Nice to see your boyfriend’s stopped giving me the evil eye. What did you say to convince him?”

Ryan sighed. There were times when Lyle noticed too much. “It wasn’t what I said that did the trick.”

Lyle shot him a quick glance and grinned. “I guessed that’s why you’ve been wearing long sleeves for two days, even though it’s as hot as hell in here.” In response to Ryan’s silence he added, “Was it fun?”

The look Ryan gave him would have curdled milk.

“So he now knows you trust him?”

Ryan’s normally hard grey eyes softened as he looked over at his black-haired lover, laughing at some remark of Connor’s. “I trust him, and he knows it. That’s what matters.”

The lieutenant nodded. Trust was important in their job.

In a voice as cold as a winter’s sky, Ryan added, “But if I ever need a bullet in the head, that’s still your job, mate.”

Lyle went from pleasantly drunk to stone cold sober in a heartbeat.

His hazel eyes met Ryan’s without flinching and he nodded.

There were some things no lover should ever be asked to do.


End file.
